Seduced By His Touch

by Tracy Anne Warren

  In her case, however, his interest was feigned, calculating. He didn’t really want her, she was simply the means to an end. Deep in her heart, she’d always known it wasn’t right, that it made no logical sense for a man as handsome and sophisticated as Jack Byron to desire a plain, ordinary mouse like her. And now she had proof that she was right.

  The knowledge gave her no satisfaction, however; the truth lay cold and hollow in her heart. Part of her wished she could take back the past few hours, erase everything that had happened tonight so she could live happily again inside her delusions. But doing so would merely have put off the inevitable. Eventually—months or even years from now—she would have come to realize her folly, awakening one bleak day to the reality of her empty, one-sided love.

  He liked her, did he? She noticed there’d been no mention of any deeper emotion. Because in that, he hadn’t been able to lie. When she thought back, she realized he’d never spoken of love—only need and desire. How had he phrased it the morning he’d proposed?

  I’ve come to realize…that I can’t do without you.

  Considering her father’s hold over him, she could see now just how accurate that statement had been. As for letting her assume he loved her…well, she was sure he’d figured it only made his task that much easier. He said he’d set out to seduce her, and he’d done exactly that. She’d been utterly besotted, giving him not just her body but her heart as well.

  She cringed now to think of the ways she’d exposed herself, openly professing her love in the mistaken belief that he returned her sentiments.

  Worse still was the manner in which he’d played on her vulnerabilities. How he’d urged her, even demanding at times, that she tell him she loved him, aware all the while that he was perpetrating a sham of the most heinous kind.

  Bastard.

  She squeezed her hands into fists and pressed them hard against her aching chest. The fact that he’d used her, she could understand, even if she might not condone his actions. The fact that he’d made a mockery of her in the process—well, that she would never forgive.

  So, what to do next?

  The wedding would have to be called off, of course. She couldn’t possibly marry him now, not knowing the things she did. Their breakup would cause a huge scandal, resulting in a public humiliation he quite richly deserved.

  Once she left Braebourne, though, she would have no choice but to return to her father’s house—a fact about which neither she nor her father would be pleased.

  And afterward? She lay there, staring blindly, while her future stretched outward as dark and impenetrable as the room around her.

  If only she had money, she could choose her own path.

  If only she had independence, she could forge a destiny free of the dictates and manipulations of men.

  And yet, maybe I can, she realized several moments later.

  Wiping away the last of her tears, she began to plan.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 17

  Jack groaned and rolled onto his back, the empty crystal tumbler in his hand dropping to the carpeted floor with a muffled thud. The small sound was enough to bring him awake, his eyes popping open as though a gun had just been fired.

  Sitting upright, he looked around and immediately wished he hadn’t when the room took a sickening spin around him.

  Clutching his head, he waited for the dizzying stab of pain to subside. As he did, he became aware of two things. He’d slept on the sofa instead of his bed. And Grace hated him.

  Grace.

  He winced as the memories swept through him.

  After she’d left last night, he’d gone over to his desk, taken out his pocketknife, and proceeded to slice the settlement into tiny little pieces. While he was at it, he’d hacked the leather folder apart as well. His desk and the floor beneath were still littered with the remains.

  The impulse had been childish, he knew, but at the time he’d been so angry, so frustrated with himself, that he’d needed some means of relieving his seething emotions. It was either that or start punching something. But even then, he’d known better than to put a hole in one of the walls. Although, under the circumstances, the misery of the broken hand he would surely have sustained might well have been worth it for a measure of satisfaction—however fleeting.

  Ten minutes later, he’d located a brandy decanter and started drinking. At some point, he remembered getting sleepy. Rather than make the short trip over to the bed, he’d stretched out on the sofa and passed out.

  Despite all wishes to the contrary, however, nothing could change what had occurred last night. Grace had found the settlement. She’d read it. And everything between them was over.

  If he hadn’t already destroyed the blasted thing, he might try again now. Of course, Danvers and both their solicitors still had copies. But that wouldn’t matter for long. At any moment, he was sure someone would be knocking at his door, demanding to know why Grace had just ordered the coach to take her back to London.

  On a sigh, he scrubbed a hand through his tousled hair.

  Suddenly a knock came at the door, startling him despite his anticipatory musings. Climbing to his feet, he made a half-hearted attempt to straighten his shirt and trousers, then gave his permission for whoever was there to enter.

  He expected it to be Ezra Danvers. But it wasn’t. Instead, one of the maids walked inside, bearing a small note card on a silver salver. She was Grace’s lady’s maid, if he wasn’t mistaken.

  “Your pardon for the interruption, your lordship,” she said. “But Miss Danvers asked me to give this to you without delay.”

  For a long moment he hesitated before reaching out for the note. Dismissing the woman with a nod of thanks, he waited until she’d gone, then broke open the seal.

  There are things we must discuss. Meet me outside in the rose garden after breakfast. Assuming you know what a rose bramble looks like.

  Grace

  He winced, then refolded the note. So she wasn’t leaving yet, after all. Surprising. Although perhaps she simply wanted to end their engagement in person. Dragging in a deep breath, he rang the bell for his valet.

  Grace’s half-boots crunched against the shell pathway, her long green cloak eddying in a slow swirl around her ankles, as she paced in the centre of the rose garden. Her breath frosted on the air, but she barely noticed the chill, too numb inside to be disturbed by a little cold. A second set of footsteps soon joined her own, and she turned to see Jack strolling toward her.

  An ache rose inside her chest as she watched him draw near. Defiantly, she chose to blame her reaction on the freezing air, rather than the shock of seeing him again for the first time since their confrontation last night.

  He looks tired, she thought. Despite his neat appearance and close-shaven face, his eyes were slightly bloodshot, as though he hadn’t slept well.

  I hope he had a terrible night. Heaven knows, I certainly did.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  She ignored the greeting. “I see you found the right section of the garden.”

  “Yes. Even I know where the roses grow.” A hard gust of wind blew, ruffling her cloak and the short woollen capes on the shoulder of his greatcoat. “Though perhaps we’d both be more comfortable inside,” he suggested. “It’s freezing out here.”

  She suppressed a shiver. “This will do. What I have to say won’t take long, and I don’t want anyone to overhear us.”

  He gave a nod. “As you wish.”

  Despite having spent half the night rehearsing what she planned to say, the words didn’t come instantly to the fore. She buried her hands inside her pockets and took several pacing steps. “I’ve given this situation a great deal of thought, and I’ve come to a number of decisions. First of all, I wish to reiterate how strongly I disapprove of what you and my father have done. I am not some object to be bartered back and forth. I find your actions reprehensible and wholly unworthy of a gentleman.”

  She waited to see if he would try t
o defend himself.

  He didn’t.

  “Secondly, and I tell you this with complete candour, I would like nothing better than to pack my bags, leave this house, and never set eyes on you again. What you did was unforgivably cruel, and any regard I may once have felt toward you is now at an end. The f-feelings I harboured were for a man I believed I knew. You are not that man.”

  A scowl settled on his forehead. “Grace, I—”

  “No,” she said, cutting him off. “Pray allow me to finish.”

  His jaw tightened as he closed his mouth.

  After a few moments of silence, she continued. “In spite of all that, however, the fact remains that I am a single woman with limited sources of support. I have a small amount of money laid aside from the publication of my artwork, but it is by no means enough to live on were I to leave my father’s residence. And given his involvement in this…this scheme, I refuse to ever live in his house again. Which is why I have decided that you and I shall marry as planned in five days’ time.”

  “What!” His blue eyes widened in clear astonishment. “You aren’t calling off the wedding?”

  “No. However, I do have conditions.”

  “What sort of conditions?”

  “Non-negotiable ones.” Resuming her pacing, she rubbed her gloved hands over her arms, her heart picking up speed. “I want half of the settlement money deposited into an account established in my name only, and to which you, as my husband, agree to relinquish all current and future rights.”

  He lifted a dark brow but said nothing.

  “The profit from my painting remains mine, as well. And should I accept any additional commissions in years to come, those funds will be mine too, to earn and spend as I choose.”

  “Interesting,” he remarked, crossing his arms. “What else? I assume you’re not finished.”

  She shook her head, refusing to meet his gaze for fear of losing her nerve before she’d laid out all her demands. “I want a house in the countryside, deeded in my name alone.”

  When he remained silent, she continued. “Something comfortable, though it need not be extravagant, in the location of my choosing. I’m thinking Kent perhaps, or maybe Essex, I haven’t decided which. Some place near the coast where the winters aren’t too long or harsh.”

  “And what do you plan to do with this house?”

  Stopping, she glanced up. “Live in it, of course.”

  Lines of puzzlement formed on his forehead. “You want us to live in a country house near the coast?”

  “No. I want to live in a country house near the coast. You may take up residence in London or wherever you please. It shall make no difference to me.”

  A muscle ticked in his cheek. “So, just to be clear. We will marry, but not live together?”

  She linked her hands together in front of her. “That’s right.”

  “Do you not think people might notice if you desert me the moment we say our vows? Your father, for instance? Knowing Danvers, he’ll probably refuse to pay the rest of the settlement, if we separate.”

  She nodded. “I did consider that, and you’re right. Papa will know something is amiss if we part immediately after the wedding. And if he does, he may attempt to interfere again by having our marriage annulled. Should that happen, it’s doubtful I would receive my half of the money. He might also insist you pay him back the full amount of your gaming debt, after all.”

  “You certainly seem to have an excellent grasp of the situation,” he said in a wry tone.

  “I do. Therefore, I will consent to live under the same roof as you for the first few months of our marriage. I imagine the end of the Season should be long enough to allay anyone’s suspicions. When the Ton leaves the city at summer’s end, I will quietly retire to my new house in the country, while you can go…wherever you prefer to go.”

  “To the devil, perhaps?” he suggested.

  “If that’s what you’d like,” she replied with studied nonchalance.

  He shot her a piercing look. “There will be talk, you know.”

  “Not a great deal, I imagine. From what I am given to understand, most aristocratic couples spend the majority of their time apart. You and I shall be no different.”

  “You realize if we marry, it’s for life. We may separate, but there will be no divorce.”

  Her heart squeezed to hear him speak so coldly. And yet this whole matter between them was cold, as frigid and grey as the winter day around them. “Even if a divorce were possible, I have no interest in marrying again. A permanent separation is fine.”

  An unfathomable expression passed over his face. Pausing, he took a moment to gaze into the distance. “You’re sure this is what you want?”

  “Quite sure. I have been manipulated and maltreated quite enough, thank you. I want my independence, and I can think of no better way of achieving it than by means of this arrangement.”

  Linking her fingers together, she squeezed them tight, using the discomfort to hold down the rising tide of emotions churning inside her. With only the tiniest provocation on his part, she feared she would be lost, a torrent of tears—or worse—breaking loose. As he continued to gaze out across the manicured grounds, she studied his profile, tracing the planes and angles of his beautiful face. His once beloved face that concealed the cold heart of a liar.

  Her resolve hardened at the reminder.

  “Really,” she remarked in a deliberately casual voice. “I should think you’d be relieved. If I call off the wedding, you’ll just be back at the beginning, and up to your ears in debt to my father. Agree to my conditions, and you’ll not only have your freedom but a fortune to boot—even if it is slightly less than you’d been planning on.”

  He shifted his gaze, regarding her for a long, silent time. “Very well, Grace. It shall be as you wish.”

  Air rushed from her lungs. “Can your solicitor be here to draw up the agreement before the wedding, do you think? I want no misunderstandings between us.”

  Sudden anger flared in his eyes. “Oh, there won’t be. And neither is there any need for a solicitor. You may no longer consider me much of a gentleman, but my word as a man is still good. You shall have your money and your house, without strings, exactly as agreed. If that isn’t sufficient, perhaps we should go see your father right now and call the whole thing off.”

  Her gaze swept down, realizing she’d pushed him too far. “No. Your promise is satisfactory.”

  “Good. And one more thing while we’re having this tête-à-tête. You may detest me now, but you’re going to have to pretend otherwise for the duration of the holiday. Until we’re wed and off on our own, everyone will be watching us, expecting to see a happy couple. Do you think you can manage to show a measure of affection toward me for the next few days? Otherwise, there’s not much point to this plan of yours.”

  Her chin came up. “I can play the moony-eyed romantic if you can.”

  He showed his teeth in a feral smile before offering his arm. “Let us return inside then. I don’t want you to take a chill.”

  But a chill was exactly what went through her as she laid her hand on his sleeve, shivering as she wondered just what she’d done.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 18

  Grace walked up the aisle on her father’s arm, so numb she was barely aware of the exquisite beauty of the chapel around her. Neither did she pay heed to the multitude of family and friends seated in the rows of glossy mahogany pews, focusing her concentration almost entirely on the simple act of moving her feet across the gleaming white marble floor.

  On the domed ceiling above lay a masterpiece of angels, their seraphic faces gazing downward from a heaven of brilliant cerulean blue skies and peerless pale clouds. But the ceiling might as well have been blank for all the impression it made on her. Neither did she see the profusion of lush pink roses gathered in several tall, elegant urns, nor smell their scent, which turned the air perfume sweet.

  All she knew was the reality of that mom
ent, and the fact that today was her wedding day—the most miserable day of her life. How ironic, since not long ago she had dreamed of it being the happiest.

  Arriving at the altar, her father drew them to a halt. She swayed and took a moment to steady herself.

  “You all right, Gracie?” he asked in a hushed tone, his brows puckered with concern.

  “Fine,” she whispered.

  Then, as she had at least a hundred other times over the past five days, she forced a smile. Her lips felt false and waxen, but her response seemed to satisfy him. Exactly as all her responses had appeared to convince everyone of her supposed happiness in this charade that lately had become her life.

  Suddenly, Jack was there to take her father’s place. Gently, he reached out and laid her palm on top of his dark blue sleeve.

  “Your hands are like ice,” he said in a low undertone.

  When she made no reply, he sighed and signalled the bishop to proceed.

  She trembled despite the warmth of her white satin gown, with its matching, long-sleeved spencer trimmed at the collar and cuffs with soft, snowy ermine. When she’d selected the simple, yet elegant, dress, she’d been brimming with excitement over the prospect of wearing it. Now, she no longer cared, chilled through to her toes.

  Somehow she managed to say the right words at the appropriate times, remaining calm and steady when Jack slid a wide gold band onto her finger next to the diamond engagement ring already there. For a long moment, she stared at the rings and everything they represented. Or rather everything they were supposed to represent—and did not.

  Amid cheers and congratulations, they walked from the chapel. But instead of finding relief at the end of the ceremony, she realized the ordeal had only just begun.

  Inside the ballroom at Braebourne, she and the wedding party formed a receiving line. The tradition quickly devolved into an act of endurance, where she was forced to talk and laugh and behave as if she were the happiest woman in the world. Pasting a smile on her face, she did her best, even though her heart beat with the slow pace of someone dying inside.